


i'll wait up for you dear

by CariZee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Astronaut AU, Did I mention the fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-09 17:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12892722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariZee/pseuds/CariZee
Summary: Clint is in space for Christmas. Phil...is not. Clint is not cool with them being apart for the holiday, but he's trying.Phil is trying even harder.





	i'll wait up for you dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [florahart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/gifts).



 

“ _Think of all the fun I’ve missed, think of all the fellas I haven’t kissed, next year I could be also good, if you’ll check off my Christmas—_ ” Clint saw the pen coming his way out of the corner of his eye. He caught it without turning his head. “Hey, rude.”

“If you want to see rude, keep singing that ridiculous song,” Natasha threatened from where she floated in front of her samples. “Next time I won’t give you any warning.”

“ _Santa Baby_ is a classic, you heathen.”

“No. Damn. Warning,” she emphasized. “And when the pen cracks open against your rock-hard skull, you can be the one to figure out how to get ink off everything in here.”

 _Here_ was the smaller science lab of the _SSS_ , the Shield Space Station. Clint had never quite gotten over his impulse to hiss whenever he said the name instead of spelling it out like Fury wanted, but it was the director’s own damn fault—he could have called the place something really cool if he hadn’t wanted to get into a pissing match with the International Space Station. But the pissing match won out, and so Clint and Natasha were currently the only astronauts living on board the _SSS_ ( _ssssss_ …) on Christmas Eve. And, not to mince words, it sucked.

Not being with Nat, that was fine. Clint liked working with her—preferred it, really. She was a meticulous scientist and had a brilliant head for numbers, whereas he was more a fix it, fly it, fuck it type of guy. Not that he’d tried to fuck anything on the _SSS_ , but it wasn’t for lack of planning. If Phil had come up here with them the way he was supposed to, there would have been _copious_ fucking. Clint had heard on the down-low from the people at the _ISS_ that fucking in zero-g wasn’t easy, but he and Phil were inventive people, they’d have managed just fine.

Only they weren’t managing, there would be no managing, and there would be no Phil. Why?

Because Phil had gotten the fucking flu.

Clint wasn’t sure who was more upset about it, him or Phil. Anticipating spending Christmas in the station, Phil hadn’t done any of the prep on their house like he normally did. There were no lights around the windows, no tree in the living room, no full-sized inflatable Santa and reindeer ensemble taking up most of their roof, no looming animatronic Frosty the Snow Man by their front door to give potential carolers the willies…it made Clint sigh just to think about it.

Their decorating was ridiculous and excessive, more so every year, and Clint loved it with a passion that led to long hours slaving over mile-long popcorn garlands and homemade gingerbread houses, complete with wicked witch and badass little Hansel and Gretel figurines (never say Clint didn’t know how to accessorize, bitch). They hosted the holiday party that everyone groaned over but no one could resist, complete with a white elephant gift exchange and eggnog that could knock even their resident guest researcher Thor Odinson on his ass.

It wasn’t supposed to be a long stay in the first place—they were the placeholder crew, the staffers who kept the station occupied and fixed up for the next long-term scientists, who were going to be Dr. Bruce Banner and Dr. Tony Stark thanks to a quick intervention that kept Director Fury from sending Stark up here with Captain Rogers. The two of them respected each other and worked well enough together on the ground, but being trapped in the _SSS_ for three months with no buffers would have undoubtedly led to bloodshed. Banner had a few not-insignificant issues of his own, but he also had the zen required to live with Stark, and with Stark Industries funding most of the station in the first place, Tony had to get his turn on high—as he constantly reminded them.

So, Clint was only here for three weeks. Three little weeks—he could handle that amount of time away from Phil. He’d done it before, done it _loads_ of times, he was a strong and independent guy, damn it. It was just… _Christmas_. This would be the first Christmas in a decade he hadn’t spent with Phil—hell, he’d been pulled into Phil’s holiday traditions since long before they got together as a couple, and Clint had never forgotten the feeling of wonder that had come over him when he realized he wasn’t just being put up with, wasn’t just being _tolerated._ Phil had wanted him around.

Back then, Clint had barely been able to remember when someone had last wanted him around just for the hell of it, and not because he had a job to do or a mission to fulfill. Phil had let Clint in, made him a part of his traditions, even let him rename Santa’s reindeer—because apart from Rudolph, the rest of them were just dumb. Vixen the reindeer? Come on, what kind of example was that for the kids? And Donner just made him think of cannibals, _that_ was no good…

This time, the pen smacked him square in the back of the head. “Hey!”

“What is wrong with you?” Nat demanded. “I’ve been calling your name for the last minute.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you still pining?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not pining,” Clint insisted, then ruined it by muttering, “You have to have a pine tree for that.”

Oddly, her expression softened. Maybe it was because he’d reminded her of how pathetic he was. “Is this about Phil?”

“No, not at all, why would I be missing my husband on Christmas Eve?”

“Clint…”

“My husband who should be with us right now, or barring that at least snug at home in our house with our dog and our Frosty. Instead he’s been sent god knows where for god knows what.” It didn’t make Clint feel any better knowing that Phil couldn’t have their usual Christmas either, but once he’d recovered from the flu Fury had decided to “make the best of it and put your moping ass to work,” as Phil had described it. Phil had been on an undercover assignment for the past three days, and Clint hadn’t gotten to talk to him once.

Nat pushed off from the specimen table and floated elegantly over to Clint’s side. She ruffled his hair, which he tried to dodge, because _dignity._ He didn’t try too hard, though. “Poor boy.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you handle the check-in with mission control this time around?” It wasn’t much of an olive branch, but Clint decided to take it anyway. Not entirely without ribbing her, though.

“Are you sure? You know it’s the highlight of Specialist Klein’s day.” Klein had recently taken over com duties for Darcy Lewis, who’d decided to spend the month of December following her favorite band across the country. Klein was a nice enough guy, but he had no clue how to talk to women, and no one was more intimidating than Dr. Romanov. It was one of the reasons Clint let her do the check-ins—listening to Klein sweat his way through a conversation with Nat was better than reality TV any day.

“I’m sure.” Her lips curved in a slight smile. “It’ll be a nice distraction for you, and a chance for me to finish this round of samples in peace.”

Clint opened his mouth to make a smartass reply, but it died in his throat. She was right. He did want a distraction, and to keep the use of all his limbs. “It’s about time now, yeah?”

“It is.”

Clint nodded and headed out of the science lab to the command center in the middle of the station. The pod wasn’t all that commanding, really—smaller than any of the labs, it housed the bulk of the computer that kept the station running, the com system, and was the hub where docking and detaching was overseen. It had a small window, now tastefully encircled with a jury-rigged wreath Clint had made from food wrappers, and that was about as homey as the place got.

The wreath made him smile when he saw it, though. Phil would appreciate something like that.

Clint pushed out of the transit tube in a slow backflip, stopping himself with his hands right above the com system. He flicked it on. The screen was dark, which was unusual but not unheard of. _The video feed must be glitching._ “This is Specialist Barton, making sure Earth hasn’t been overrun with all the aliens we haven’t seen up here since we last checked in.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Specialist.”

Clint startled so badly he almost let go of the panel. “ _Phil?_ What the hell, where are you, what have you been doing—”

Phil chuckled over the com. Actually _chuckled_. “Calm down and I’ll tell you.”

“Are you sure about that alien thing?” Clint asked suspiciously, but he couldn’t keep himself from grinning. “Because you’re laughing where other people can hear you, that’s gonna do bad things for your reputation.” His reputation as the Robotic Man, the ultimate pen pusher, the guy engineered to keep other madcap engineers in line. Not that it worked with Stark, but no one could say Phil didn’t try.

“Actually, the only person who can hear me right now is you.”

“Did you and Nat plan this?” The long silence that followed was all the answer he needed. “Right, of course. When did you get back to New York?” That was where the main bulk of SHIELD’s offices were.

“I’m not in New York, actually.”

“Where are you, then?”

Clint almost bit his own tongue when Phil said, “Australia.” It wasn’t like the guy to give up his location so easily—or ever, really. Phil was Director Fury’s right hand, and with that position came the responsibility of keeping a lot of satellite companies respectfully in line. Nobody did corporate espionage like Phil, except for maybe Natasha.

“Australia, huh?” Clint floated a little closer to the window. “We’re about to start passing over Australia.” His grin came back. “Maybe I’ll be able to see you.”

“Get the binoculars and you might.”

“Phil.” The binoculars were decent for magnifying things like cities during the day, but at night they weren’t going to do much, especially when it came to finding a single person. “Come on.”

“I’m serious, get the binoculars. Dim the lights in the control room and let me know when you’re past Esperance.” It was weird, Phil sounded almost…not _nervous,_ but expectant, maybe? Were they going to do something cutesy right now? Was he going to lift a lighter into the air and sing a carol?

“Clint.”

“Yeah, okay.” He grabbed the binoculars and turned out the main lights, then returned to the window. “Can you hear me from over here?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.” Here came Australia, glittery around the edges and a pool of barely-broken darkness in the middle. “So, you’re down there somewhere? Is it Christmas Day yet?”

“Actually, it is.”

“Aw, nice. Merry Christmas, Phil.” Clint resolutely did _not_ let any hint of his pining enter his voice. Phil didn’t need that right now.

“Merry Christmas, Clint.” The warmth in his voice settled like a cup of hot coffee in Clint’s abdomen, soothing away anxiety he hadn’t even realized he felt until it was gone.

“I’ll send you a picture of my wreath, it’s awesome. Well, awesome considering I didn’t have any tinsel or bows or shit like that to spruce it up with.”

“I managed to put up some decorations too,” Phil said.

“Oh yeah? What did you do?”

“Are you past Esperance?”

“Um…” Clint looked down at Australia. “Yeah, we are now.” It only took the _SSS_ ninety minutes to orbit the entire globe—if you didn’t watch carefully, you’d miss entire continents before you got back from the toilet. “What am I looking for?”

“Just wait, you’ll see it.”

Clint waited. He waited some more. Then his tiny reserve of patience ran out. “Phil, really, what am I—wait.” Wait, what the hell was _that_? There was a tiny flashing light in the middle of the Great Victoria Desert, which meant that it was probably actually acres’ worth of lights. Lights weren’t so remarkable in and of themselves, but this one was…purple. And the light wasn’t just flashing. It was flashing a pattern. “Is that—did you—”

“Yes.”

“Phil.” Clint had to blink and check that he wasn’t hallucinating things. “Is that light saying Merry Christmas in _Morse_ _code_?”

“Well, you don’t get to enjoy the light show at home this year, so I thought I’d put something up that you could see.”

“ _Phil_.” Clint couldn’t speak. He couldn’t force what he felt out past his tightening throat, all he could do was look down at the message meant just for him, blinking holiday cheer out in the middle of the fucking desert. How in the hell… “This is where you’ve been? What you’ve been doing?” he finally managed.

“Three days of working hand-in-hand with Tony Stark, which—I love you, but let’s never be apart for the holidays again. If you could see the looks Tony has been giving me over this, you’d want to taze him too.”

Clint laughed wetly. “The tin man has a heart after all.”

“That’s the _least_ of his ridiculous insults.”

“Jesus, Phil. _Jesus_.” Clint wiped his hand over his eyes. “You dumb bastard, why do you have to be so far away right now?”

Phi sighed. “Take it up with my immune system. I guess you liked your present, then?” He actually sounded a little unsure, which was fucking nuts.

“Liked it? Phil, it’s—you—literally _no one_ has ever gone to this much trouble for me before in their _life_. I can’t believe you.”

“You will eventually.” His quiet certainty settled Clint’s jangling nerves while simultaneously making him wonder what amazing thing he’d done in a previous life to deserve this.

“It’s—wait, we’re leaving it behind now, I can barely see it anymore.” He couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. “It’s an amazing gift though, thank you babe.”

“Wait until you’re over Papua New Guinea to thank me.”

Clint’s breath stuttered in his chest. “What, really?”

“I _might_ have arranged for this to happen a few more times,” Phil admitted. “Merry Christmas, Clint. I love you.”

Clint wanted to say _You have fucked me up for life, my heart will never recover, you jackass._ He wanted to say _You are getting so many blowjobs for this, seriously, I will never talk back to you again because my mouth will always be full._ In the end, though, all he could say was, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is a website that translated Morse Code into light flashes, and when I found that I just couldn't resist.
> 
> https://morsecode.scphillips.com/translator.html


End file.
